


Harry and Draco Plan a Wedding

by A_Bisexual_Intellectual



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Harry, Slow Burn, drunk admissions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-06 03:30:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18380063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Bisexual_Intellectual/pseuds/A_Bisexual_Intellectual
Summary: When Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley announce their engagement, the wizarding world is ecstatic for the "wedding of the century." Feeling the pressure to have the perfect wedding, Harry hires the best wedding planner in all of wizarding Britain, Draco Malfoy. Harry, thinking he can put the past behind him, turns out to be very wrong when he goes to Draco’s shop and all his old feelings begin to resurface, only… not quite in the same way. The two become fast friends over the weeks and months they work together in preparation for Harry’s wedding, and Harry begins to question who he actually wants at the end of the aisle.





	1. The Engagement

Two men sit within their respective homes. One sits with his head buried in his hands, mourning every wrong choice he ever made. The other stands at his kitchen sink, looking out the foggy window above it into the cold night, mourning every life he could not save. Ironically, both men found themselves thinking of the other, both wishing to right the wrongs of the past, both feeling as if there was no hope for the future. Unbeknownst to the men, fate would soon intervene. For it believed that the two men, despite all that happened between them, were the only ones who could help the other heal.  
So that night, as Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were falling asleep, fate sneaks in and plants a seed, a plan, an idea if you will. That maybe reconciliation isn’t so far fetched, that maybe there is a chance to mend the broken pieces of the past into a whole and fruitful future. Smiling, fate retreats, deciding that it was now up to the two men to heal, and one day, to find each other.

_5 years later_

Harry Potter was well and truly fucked. Grabbing his coat, wand, and the bouquet of tulips he picked up earlier, he ran out of his flat, barely managing to say the locking spell before he closes his eyes and disapparates away with a pop. Harry lands in a hidden alley about 400 meters from his date’s house. Honestly, Harry could not believe he was late. This was the one night he had really wanted to be on time, and he still managed to cock it up.

  
“Oh, well,” Harry thinks, sprinting to the yellow house at the end of the street, “It’s not like I can do anything about it now.”

Coming to a stop in front of the dark oak door, Harry takes a moment to straighten himself out before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.

  
Harry smiles as the door opens, holding out the bouquet of tulips, “You look beautiful, baby.”

  
Ginny smiles broadly, taking the bouquet, “Thank you, Harry.” She says, stepping onto her porch, locking the door behind her.

  
Harry slips his hand into Ginny’s, interlacing their fingers, “Ready?”

  
Ginny nods, “Ready.”

  
And with their destination clear in mind, Harry disapparates them.

Arriving at the burrow has never lost its magic for Harry. Every time he appears in front of the large, lopsided building, he’s left breathless. The windows are always lit warmly, the pink willow trees Molly planted sway softly in the breeze, laughter can be heard pouring from inside the house, and Harry feels like he’s home. Ginny squeezes his hand, and he looks at her. The moonlight washes her face in an ethereal glow, reflecting beautifully in her eyes and hair. Looking at Ginny, something twinges in his chest. Ginny is his home, she is what connects him to his home. Without her, Harry doesn’t know what he would do.  
They walk, hand in hand, into the burrow. The Weasley clan shout their greetings as Molly pulls him into a tight hug. Harry allows himself to be coddled, smiling and nodding as Molly asks her usual questions.

_Are you eating enough, dear? How are the kids doing? When are you two going to get married?_

  
The last question makes Harry and Ginny share a secret smile. Harry stays talking to Molly for a few more moments before Ginny swoops in. Harry smiles at her before wandering off to go find Ron and Hermione.

He spots the pair sitting in the front room. They had pushed two armchairs together, forming a makeshift loveseat in front of the fire. Hermione’s head leans against Ron’s shoulder, her closed eyes and even breathing signaling she is asleep. Ron sees me and smiles tiredly, gesturing with his free hand to sit in front of him.

“Hey, mate,” Harry whispers, trying to avoid waking the pregnant Hermione, “where’s Rosie?”

  
“Upstairs taking a nap,” Ron says, “She was a right wanker to put down tonight. Kept saying she wanted to wait for her Uncle Harry before her nap.”

  
Harry smiles, “I love that kid.”

  
Ron chuckles, and they settle into a comfortable silence, listening to the crackling fire and Hermione’s soft breathing.

  
“Are you going to do it today?”

  
Harry doesn’t look at Ron, just stares ahead at the fire and nods. Ron sighs and Harry hears shuffling behind him before Ron plops himself on the floor beside Harry and puts an arm around his shoulders.

  
“I know marriage is a big deal to you, mate, but Ginny will say yes.”

  
“I know.” Harry says, still not looking away from the fire.

  
He knows, Harry knows Ginny will say yes. If he closes his eyes, Harry can picture a dozen Christmases and birthdays. He can see holidays at the Burrow, Ron and Hermione at his wedding, the irreversible tying of him to the Weasleys. He can feel the comfort of truly belonging.

  
“You know,” Ron says, a goofy smile spreading across his lips, “for years now I’ve called you my brother, but now you’ll actually be in the family.”

  
And Harry knows Ron means no harm by saying that. He knows. However, every time Ron says something about Harry _really_ being in the family, it makes him feel like maybe he was never in the family in the first place.

In the end, Harry has been planning this proposal for a month now, and Harry is determined to see it through. So, after dinner, right as Molly is serving dessert, Harry drops to one knee. Hermione and Rose scream, Arthur nods approvingly, Ron is taking pictures, Molly drops her pie, and Ginny looks like she is going to start crying as she drops to her knees and kisses him right after whispering “yes!”

  
As various friends and family members come up to him to give their congratulations, Harry couldn’t help but notice the nagging feeling in the back of his mind telling him something isn’t right. But looking at Ginny, smiling and talking with Hermione and Molly, and Ron giving him a thumbs up, Harry can’t help but shove the feeling away.

  
“This is where I’m meant to be.”

“Well,” Ginny says, turning to face Harry, “I guess we better find a wedding planner.”


	2. Old Rivalries Die Hard

**Draco’s P.O.V.**

“Draco, darling, glad you finally decided to show up.” Pansy drawled as Draco walked into his shop.

  
She was lounging in one of the many plush armchairs he had spread around, her legs dangling over one edge, causing her leather skirt to hike up even higher that it normally sits.

“Pansy, do remind yourself who owns this shop.” Draco quips, shrugging out of his charcoal pea coat and heading to his office.

  
Draco loves his office; It’s spacious. A large pecan wood desk sits facing the door, two green velvet chairs face the desk, and bookshelves line the two adjacent walls. The large window behind his desk lets the midday sun stream inside, making the office seem homey. Fully intending to go sit at his desk and enjoy a cup of tea, Draco heads over to his tea station. However, he doesn’t get the chance to enjoy his midday cuppa as Pansy comes strutting in, her heels clacking on the gray tile flooring. As Draco goes to his desk, Pansy resumes her splayed position in one of his chairs.

  
“I take it you haven’t heard.”

  
“Heard what?” Draco asks, not actually caring as he heats up the kettle.

  
“About Potter.”

  
That causes Draco’s head to snap up. Pansy gives him a knowing smirk, a folded newspaper held aloft in her cherry red nails. Draco rolls his eyes, snatching the paper.

  
The paper is stamped with a large headline: “Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley ENGAGED! The wedding of the century is nigh!”  
Draco isn’t sure how the headline makes him feel, but his stomach is slightly queasier than it had been a moment ago.  
His hands unconsciously crumple the newspaper, _“Oh course Potter’s wedding will be publicized,”_ Draco thinks, _“Bet the bastard’s enjoying it too.”_

  
“Well are you going to write to him or shall I?” Pansy asks, breaking Draco out of his thoughts.

  
Draco quirks an eyebrow, “Write whom, exactly?”

  
“Why our dear former classmate, Harry of course.” Pansy drawls, “I mean, planning the “wedding of the century” would be awfully good for business.”

  
Draco scoffs, setting the newspaper down and returning to his tea, “Potter wouldn’t want me even if I was the best wedding planner in all of wizarding Britain.”

  
“But darling, you are.” Pansy says, pulling what looked like a letter out of her bra.

  
“Was that in your bra?”

  
“Irrelevant,” She says, placing the letter on the table, “However, the contents of this letter are quite pertinent.”

  
Draco knows she’s baiting him, he knows, but he’s never been able to resist something to do with Potter. He reaches out and snatches the letter. It’s warm, which is unnerving, and written on a crumpled parchment. Opening the parchment, Draco’s greeted with a familiar messy scrawl.

 _Dear Parkinson,_  
_While I was surprised to receive your owl, it wasn’t unpleasantly so. All the headlines recently have been putting a lot of pressure on the upcoming wedding and having a professional wedding planner would help out loads._  
_If you can, I’d like to come in tomorrow for a consultation around 1._

_I await your response,_

_Harry Potter_

“Pansy…” Draco says slowly, “How long have you had this letter?”

  
“Since yesterday.” She responds, nonchalant.

  
“Since- Pansy! He’ll be here in less than twenty minutes!”

  
Pansy remains unbothered, using one of the various fashion awards hanging on the wall as a mirror to touch up her burgundy lipstick.  
“Darling, check your watch, he’ll be here in less than ten.”

  
Draco casts a panicked tempus, and sure enough it was 12:51 pm. Letting out a very manly shriek, Draco drops the letter and runs to his office’s ensuite. He is wearing a dark green button down with black slacks and shoes today, his hair purposefully disheveled, giving him that just out of bed look. Smoothing down his shirt and fixing his collar, Draco decided he looked presentable.

  
“Stop preening, darling,” Pansy says, poking her head into the bathroom, “the man’s engaged.”

  
Draco throws his brush at her.

Harry’s P.O.V

Harry arrives at Cissa’s Wedding Boutique & Showroom two minutes to one. The shop is in a quiet corner of Diagon Alley, nestled between a flower shop and a cafe, which has the pleasant effect of making the entire area smell like chocolate chip cookies and flowers. Large, silver letters on the middle storefront announce that he is indeed in the right place, if the various wedding dresses and suits in the windows didn’t already tip him off.

  
When Harry pushes open the front door, a tingling sound floats around the shop. Looking around, the shop is just as inviting on the inside as it is on the outside. Cissa’s is well-lit, sunlight pours in from the two large storefront windows, bringing a warmth to the otherwise neutrally decorated room. Crowded racks line the perimeter of the store, a large black counter stands in the middle of the store, assumably acting as an information and check out counter. Two crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, adding to the sophisticated atmosphere, and comfortable looking velvet green armchairs were scattered around the room. Harry didn’t know much about interior design, but he could tell whoever decorated this room had good eye. He’s just about to call out for Pansy when a voice appears beside him.

  
“Potter.”

  
He turns to find Parkinson, looking only slightly different than she had during their school days. Her hair was still cut in a blunt bob, but she’d grown into her features, her nose no longer looked pig-like. She wore a tight, short leather skirt, and a cherry red blouse and heels. She looked imposing and grown up.

  
“Parkinson,” Harry says, sticking out his hand in greeting, “thank you for offering your services.”

  
Pansy laughs, taking his hand in a firm grip, “Potter, your thanks are appreciated, but I offered you the services of the best wedding planner in wizarding Britain.”

  
Harry scrunches his eyebrows in confusion.

  
“That’s not me.” Pansy says before pointing to the door behind her, “The true genius is back there.”

  
He looks from the door and back to Pansy, and after a light shove from her, he opens the door to a large, well-lit office. Harry would’ve called it extravagant if the pieces inside weren’t so minimalistic and understated. However, Harry didn’t have time to fully take in the office because he was rather caught up with staring at who resided in it.  
There, looking as proper as the last day Harry saw him, sat Draco Malfoy. His dark green shirt fit his body perfectly, accentuating his broadened shoulders and trim waist. His hair, while still it’s unnatural blonde colour, is no longer slicked back but attractively disheveled. He looks good.

“Malfoy.” Harry says, extending his hand, “Long time no see.”

  
Malfoy looks up, and Harry hadn’t been quite ready to see those piercing eyes again, “Potter.” He says, walking around the desk to stand in front of Harry.

  
He takes his hand, “I suppose it has been a while.”

  
They shake hands. Malfoy’s is a little sweaty.

  
“Well,” Pansy says, entering the room, causing Harry to quickly drop Malfoy’s hand, “now that we’ve got our awkward reintroductions out of the way, Draco why don’t you take Harry here through the sample book?”

  
Pansy gives Malfoy a pointed look, which Malfoy returns with a glare. Harry shakes his head, smiling slightly. Those two may look like adults, but they hadn’t changed at all since their Hogwarts days.

  
“Ah, yes,” Malfoy says, “Right, take a seat Potter. Pansy, darling, would you please work the counter? I have a 1:30 fitting you can take care of.”

  
“Of course, love.” Pansy says, sending Malfoy a wink before closing the door behind her.

  
Malfoy walks over to one of the many bookshelves that resides against the walls, seeming to know exactly what he is looking for on the crowded shelves. Harry watches him, looking for any signs that Malfoy was the same bigoted boy he used to know. Though, watching him, all Harry sees is a normal man. Sure, one that stands a little straighter and has a better fashion sense than average, but overall, just a normal man.

Harry blinks, and suddenly, Malfoy is sitting at his desk, a book open, looking at him with an expectant expression.

  
“Er, sorry. What was that?” Harry asks.

  
“A date,” Malfoy says slowly, as one would do when explaining something to a child, “a day on which to have your wedding.”

  
“Oh,” Harry says, a blush creeping up on his cheeks, “Well, Ginny wants a summer wedding-”

  
“And you?”

  
“Pardon?” Harry asks, confused.

  
“When do you want the wedding?”

  
Harry was silent. No one had asked him that. Honestly, he hadn’t really thought about it. Up until this point, all the wedding planning had been about Ginny and her schedule and her wants. What Harry wants doesn’t really matter.

  
“I suppose I’d want a spring wedding, maybe late March?”

  
Malfoy smiles, “I’m also partial to spring weddings, but if summer is the way you want to go…?”

  
“Yes.” Harry says immediately, “That’s what works best for Ginny.”

  
Malfoy gives him an odd look before nodding and writing something down, “So, June, July, August?”

  
“July, late July, Ginny says we could combine it with my birthday. That way she’ll for sure be in town regardless.”

  
Malfoy nods, writing it down.

  
“Indoor or outdoor?”

  
“Ginny wants indoor.”

  
“Color scheme?”

  
“Ginny wants shades of yellow and purple.”

“What kind of food?”

  
“Well, Ginny’s trying this new vegetarian thing, so I suppose mainly meatless dishes.”

  
“Number of guests?”

  
“Ginny wants-”

  
“I swear to merlin, Potter, if you say one more thing that Ginny wants, I’ll hex you into next week.”

  
Harry can feel the first flares of anger start to rise up, he supposes it was unavoidable, considering it’s Malfoy he’s working with.

  
“What’s wrong with wanting to please my future wife?”

  
“Nothing,” Malfoy says, “except the fact that you seem to be completely ignoring yourself to please her.”

  
Harry sits back, crossing his arms petulantly, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

  
“Doesn’t… Potter, a wedding is as much about a groom as it is a bride. It’s a joining of two lives, two people, into one. If you start of your marriage with an imbalance, well, let’s just say it doesn’t bode well for the future.”

  
Harry scoffs, “What are you? A marriage counselor?”

  
“I took a few classes.” Malfoy says, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

Harry doesn’t have the patience for this. Why he ever thought he could work with Draco Malfoy, of all people, Harry did not know, but clearly, it wouldn’t work. Malfoy knows how to push his buttons a little too well for Harry’s liking.

  
“If you can’t respect the wishes of me, your client,” Harry says, motioning to himself, “then I’ll just leave now.”

  
Harry stands up, his chair scraping the floor as he does so, causing Malfoy to cringe. Harry stands there for a second, not moving just yet, waiting to see if Malfoy will apologize, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, a far too knowing look in his eyes.

  
“Alright, Potter,” Malfoy says, leaning forward on his hands, “You can have a yellow and purple, indoor, summer wedding with vegetarian food if that’s what you truly want.”

  
Harry opens his mouth to thank Malfoy for being understanding when Malfoy holds up a hand.

  
“On one condition.”

  
“Yes?” Harry asks, wary.

“There has to be one thing that’s apart of the wedding that’s uniquely you. Something that has nothing to do with Ginny.”

  
Harry scrunches his eyebrows, confused, “Like what?”

  
“I don’t know,” Malfoy says, shrugging, “but I’ll figure something out.”

Harry stands there, weighing his options. He could just walk out, find a new wedding planner, and not have to deal with this at all. Though, Malfoy is the best wedding planner in wizarding Britain and having him plan the wedding would guarantee that it’d be high quality. His mind made up, Harry’s just about to tell Malfoy he’ll accept his conditions when:

  
“Come on, Potter,” Malfoy says, “Be a man for once in your life and stop letting everyone walk all over you.”

  
On second thought, maybe not.

  
“Screw you, Malfoy.” Harry says, jaw clenched, “If you think that you’re the only wedding planner in wizarding Britain, then you’re wrong. I don’t have to put up with you.”

  
Turning on his heel, Harry goes to leave when Malfoy calls out to him.

  
“Potter!” Harry turns around.

“I may not be the only wedding planner,” Malfoy says, a smirk playing on his lips, “but I am the best.”

  
“Yeah?” Harry says, his hand on the doorknob, “Then maybe learn some propriety.”

  
Satisfied he had the last word, Harry opens and slams the door behind him. Walking out of the shop, Harry hopes he hasn’t just made a huge mistake.

Harry made a huge mistake.

  
After storming out of Cissa’s, he apparated straight over to Ron and Hermione’s, hoping one of them would vindicate him.

Unfortunately, his friends are traitors.

  
“Mate, you mean to tell you fired the best wedding planner in Britain because you didn’t like his attitude?”

  
Harry sank lower into his chair, trying to let the overstuffed atrocity swallow him alive.

  
“It wasn’t just that, Ron.” Harry whines, “It was also Malfoy.”

  
“Oh, honestly Harry,” Hermione says, entering the room, “You couldn’t learn how to play nice for Ginny’s sake?”

  
“Why do you think I went to the consultation in the first place?” Harry says, “It was bad enough when I thought it was Parkinson, but Malfoy? No way in hell.”

  
Hermione gives Ron a look, and he wordlessly stands from his chair, walking past Harry into the kitchen, leaving Hermione to take Ron’s place and put a comforting hand on his knee.

  
“Harry,” She says, her mom-of-soon-to-be-two voice in full effect, “I know you and Malfoy had a rough past, but he really is a great wedding planner. Maybe try to cut him some slack? You never know, you might even end up friends.”

  
Harry scoffs, “Not bloody likely.”

  
Hermione fixes him with a hard stare. Harry sighs.

  
“Fine, I suppose I can try harder to ignore his massive wanker personality.”

  
Hermione smacks him on the back of the head.

  
“Sorry, sorry!” Harry says, ducking away from her violent onslaught, “I’ll be nice.”

  
“You’d better.” Hermione says, her eyes glittering dangerously, “Because if you’re not, I’ll tell the press that they’re invited to your wedding.”

  
“You wouldn’t” Harry gasps, eyes growing wide with horror.

  
“Oh, I would.”

  
Harry sighs, knowing Hermione never bluffs, “I guess I’ll go write an apology.”

  
She pats him on the head, “Good boy.”

Pulling himself up, Harry apparates to his flat, before collapsing into his coach, groaning. Why should he apologize? It’s not Harry’s fault that Malfoy’s a git. Besides, it wasn’t Malfoy’s place to try and add anything to Harry’s wedding, it’s Harry’s wedding. If Harry wants to give Ginny free control over all the aspects of the wedding, it is fully within Harry’s rights to do so.

  
_“Maybe Malfoy was just trying to be nice.”_ A traitorous part of Harry’s brain thinks.

  
Harry snorts, Malfoy wouldn’t be nice to Harry even if Parkinson had a wand to his head. No, Malfoy was simply trying to… to what? Make sure Harry had a good marriage? Make Harry feel special on his wedding day?  
He sighs, maybe Malfoy was looking out for him.

  
Filled with a newfound resolve, Harry summons a parchment and quill and begins to write an apology.

  
_“But if he ever calls me a pushover again,”_ Harry thinks, _“I’ll kill him.”_


	3. Turning Point

**Draco’s POV**

Draco flopped down on his coach, firewhiskey sloshing over the side of his glass. Draco looks at the wet patch soaking through his white shirt with disdain. Of course Potter would cause him to ruin his favourite sleep shirt, the tosser. Feeling supremely unmotivated, Draco simply vanishes the shirt instead of taking it off and washing it. He looks down at his chest, a chest that still bares Potter’s mark. The criss-crossing pale white lines dance across the pal expanse, and Draco would never admit it, but he kind of likes them. They are a physical reminder of what he’s been through, what he’s survived.

_What Potter helped you survive._

“Shut up.” Draco growled, angry that even his subconscious likes Potter.

Draco downs the last of his firewhiskey, thankful for the burn, thankful that it helps him forget. He sets his glass down on the glass coffee table next to him, where it lands on the very parchment he is trying to, and failing to, forget about.

 _“Dear Draco,”_ Draco slurs, _“I apologize for my behaviour earlier today. I wasn’t expecting to see you, and old habits die hard I suppose. You always have been able to rile me up like no other. Anyways, I realize my behaviour was nowhere near professional and would like to maybe try to meet again. You see, I only want-”_ Draco hiccups, squeezing his eyes shut, _“I only want what’s best for Ginny, and you’re the best. If you refuse I’ll understand, if not, owl me at your earlier convenience to schedule another consultation. I’ll clear my schedule. Harry.”_

Draco isn't sure why the letter makes him feel so off-kilter. After they’re disastrous meeting earlier today, he had assumed that Potter wouldn’t want to meet with him again, and Draco really didn’t want to analyze the way that made him feel. One side of his brain screamed _Good Riddance_ and the other side ugly sobbing in a corner, devastated at the prospect of never seeing Potter again.

“ _I’ll clear my schedule._ ” Draco sneers, “What if I’m not free, did Potter not think of that?”

“Darling, we both know you’d clear your schedule for him in a heartbeat.” Pansy says, walking into his living room and perching herself on the arm of his coach.

“You’re rather pathetic aren’t you?” She says, taking in Draco’s inebriated form, “You see Harry one time and you go off and get sloshed.”

“Shut it, Pans.” Draco says, rolling around so his face now pressed into one of his white, fuzzy throw pillows.

He feels a cool hand on his back. It rubs circles between his shoulders, then moves up to stroke through his hair. Draco relaxes into the touch.

“It hard,” Pansy says, “Seeing you like this. Torn up over the Golden Git. I thought maybe you’d have grown out of it in the past five years, but you’re as tetchy with him now as you were then.”

Draco sighs, hating the truth in the words. He really is rather pathetic when it comes to Potter.

“I’d understand if you don’t write him back, it’d certainly save me from months of your inevitable complaining, but…”

Draco rolls over, looking at Pansy. She’s staring out of the window behind his coach, her eyes far away. “But what?”

“But you have always been good for each other, haven’t you? Yes, you infuriate each other; yes, you have a complicated past; but you’ve always cared, both of you. He’s good for you, Draco. You were alive with him today in a way I haven’t seen in years.”

Draco swallows the lump forming in his throat, “Pansy, he’s engaged.”

“I know, darling,” she says, resuming her stroking, “but maybe you’re good for him too.”

Draco sighs, closing his eyes, trying to focus on Pansy’s soft strokes in his hair. They sit like that for a while, Pansy stroking and Draco thinking. The clock over Draco’s mantle chimes midnight.

“Alright,” Pansy says, standing up, “I’ve got to get home, Anthony had a late shift so I’ve got to take the dumplings into school tomorrow morning.”

“Say hi to them for me.” Draco says, ignoring the feeling of loneliness nagging at him.

“Of course.” Pansy kisses his temple before walking over to his floo.

Draco closes his eyes, “Draco?”

He looks over to Pansy, standing in his floo, the gray powder dripping from her fist. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I hope you write Harry back. I kind of like him.” And then she floos away, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts.

_“He’s good for you, Draco.”_

Draco’s eyes feel like they’re burning, his lungs as if someone were squeezing them. Damn Potter, always making him feel things. What an absolute git. His eyes land on the letter again, the piece of parchment that promises pain and longing and tears. Draco pulls out his wand, prepared to incinerate the damned thing and be done with it, but a voice that sounds suspiciously like Pansy’s stops him.

_“Maybe you’re good for him too.”_

Draco sighs, putting his wand down. One more meeting, and if it doesn't go well, he’ll never have to see Potter again. Resolved, Draco picks up his quill.

_Dear Potter…_

 

**Harry’s POV**

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

Harry groans, rolling over in bed. “Five more minutes.” He grumbles.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

“Go away!” He calls out, the incessant tapping contrasting badly with his hangover.

_Tap, Tap, Tap._

Harry sits up in bed, wand raised, “I said go aw-” He trails off, noticing that the tapping wasn’t knocking, but an owl. Harry sighs, detangling himself from his sheets and walking over to his window, opening it and letting the bird in.

“Alright you bloody menace, who thought it was a good idea to send you before noon?” Harry says, taking the letter from the bird’s beak.

 

_Dear Potter,_

_I appreciate your apology, but it is misplaced. It was I who pushed you, and for that I apologize. I assure you Pansy has already yelled at me for meddling. If you would like to have another consultation, I have a spot open today at 12:30. I’ll keep it open in case you decide to come._

_Best Wishes,_

_Draco Malfoy_

 

Harry smiles broadly before catching himself. It’s just a meeting with Draco Malfoy, he shouldn’t be happy about it, and he certainly shouldn’t be excited about it. Harry’s just glad he has another shot with the best wedding planner in wizarding Britain is all, and Malfoy is the best, and Harry only wants what’s best for Ginny. He folds the letter and sets it on his dresser, grabbing some owl treats from the jar and setting them in front of the owl. He’s about to go take a long, hot shower and down a hangover potion when he glimpses at his alarm clock.

12:15 PM

“Buggar!” Harry shouts, scrambling around his room, rapidly grabbing everything he needs to look presentable.

Clean pants? Check. Jeans? Check. Unstained shirt? Check. Shoes and socks? Check. Hangover potion? Downed. Wand? In pocket. Harry does a quick scourgify and morning breath spell on himself, and is about to apparate away when he walks into his bedpost. Glasses? On the nightstand. Harry grabs his glasses, shooting himself a disdainful look at the state of himself in the mirror and apparates away.

 +            +               +               +               +                 +                  +                +                  +                 +          

Harry is going to have an aneurysm.

Malfoy stands in front of him, holding up two types of seemingly identical fabrics, a constipated look on his face.

“Er… Malfoy, I don’t really care what fabric you choose. They look exactly the same.”

“Exactly the… Potter! This one,” He holds up the left fabric, “is _Orchid_ purple and this one,” He holds up the right fabric, “is _Amethyst_ purple! They are completely different colours!”

Harry looks back and forth between the identical fabrics again, scrunching his nose in concentration.

"No, I'm fairly certain they're the same."

Malfoy sighs, long and hard, as if all the world’s burdens have suddenly fallen upon his shoulders.

“Potter, you need a colour education.” Malfoy says, grabbing Harry’s hand and dragging him away.

Harry spends the next hour next to Malfoy as he shifts through seemingly hundreds of paint and fabric swatches, explaining to him about undertones and contrast and how they relate to each other and their surroundings. By the time the clock chimes 3, Harry is exhausted. He never thought there was so much to colour, but as Malfoy had spent the last hour and a half explaining to him, there is.

“So,” Malfoy says, picking up the same two purple fabrics from earlier, “Amethyst or Orchid?”

“Amethyst.”

Malfoy smiles, “Good boy.”

Harry yawns, leaning back in his chair. He’s gotten a better look at Malfoy’s office since the last time he was in here, and every new thing he sees has him wondering more and more about the man in front of him. Harry drags his eyes across the bookshelves, which are absolutely stuffed with various wedding and fashion books; the top shelves are reserved for photos and knick-knacks, where he can see pictures of Malfoy with friends and his mother, his eyes linger on one particularly cute picture where Malfoy kneels between two black haired children dressed as dreidels, all three of them grinning and waving from the photo. Harry’s eyes drift over to the wall between the bathroom’s door and the main door which is filled with plaques declaring a myriad of triumphs. _Wizard’s Choice Fashion Designer 2002. The Daily Prophet Award for Fashion 2003. LGBT Rights Advocacy Award 2001._

“So…” Harry says, “How’d you get into wedding planning?”

Malfoy looks up at him from where he had been shuffling through papers across from him, “Are we really going to do this, Potter?”

“Do what?” Harry asks, confused.

“This,” Malfoy says, gesturing between them, “Talk like we’re friends. As if you actually care about my life.”

Harry blanches, stung, “I was just trying to be nice, Malfoy.”

“Well don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not friends, Potter.”

“We could be.”

“No, we couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like you.”

“I think you could.”

“And why,” Malfoy says, narrowing his eyes at him, “pray tell, would you think that?”

Harry stares back. “Because you wanted to be my friend. Once.”

“Wanted,” Malfoy says, “Past tense.”

“Well, I want to be your friend. Present tense.”

Malfoy swallows, his eyes roaming Harry’s face. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“You haven’t asked anything.”

Malfoy leans back, seeming to contemplate the response. Harry leans back too, his cheeks a faint blush colour, he hadn’t noticed they’d gotten so close.

“Alright, Potter.” Malfoy says, a mischievous look on his face, “if I ask you a question, will you answer it?”

“ _It depends on the question._ ” Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t. This is his chance to get Malfoy to open up to him.

“Yes.”

Malfoy smiles broadly, “Fantastic. Did you ever fuck Cedric?”

Harry chokes on air, his face burning bright red, “Did I ever _what now_?”

“Fuck. Cedric.” Malfoy says, enunciating each word.

“No! No, no, no, no, no! Why would you even think that?”

Malfoy shrugs, “You two always seemed rather cosy and my gaydar always went crazy whenever you two were next to each other.”

“Gaydar?”

“It’s a muggle term for one queer person’s ability to detect other-”

“I know what gaydar is!” Harry interjects, “I just didn’t know you did. You know, because its…”

“Muggle.” Malfoy fills in.

“I don’t hate them anymore, you know. I actually find them quite… impervious.”

“Impervious?”

“They seem to be able to survive quite a lot, even with their rudimentary understanding of the world.”

Harry ignores the subtle jab, “So you know some muggles then?”

Malfoy smiles and stands up, walking over to his book shelf, stretching to reach a silver trophy and a silver picture frame. He walks back over and places them in Harry’s hands.

“That,” Malfoy says, pointing to the trophy, “is the GLAAD award I won last spring, and that,” Malfoy says, pointing to the picture, a muggle one Harry notices, “is Beyonce, Anne Hathaway, and I getting drunk after the ceremony.”

Harry looks at the picture, and sure enough, there’s Beyonce, Anne Hathaway, and Malfoy snapped mid-dance, drinks in their hands, smiles on their faces. He reads the GLAAD awards plaque; _Outstanding Blog, Draco Malfoy, 2004._

“Of course the muggles you know are borderline royalty.” Harry mumbles.

Malfoy smiles, taking the items from Harry and returning them to his shelf. Harry watches him, more intrigued than ever.

“Can I ask you a question now?” Harry blurts out, too curious to help himself.

Malfoy sits down in his chair again, picking up his teacup, “I suppose.”

“Why fashion and weddings?”

Malfoy sips his drink, swirling it around in his cup before setting it down, “You’ll laugh when I tell you.”

Harry smiles, “Try me.”

Malfoy seems to hesitate, “You remember the dementor costume I wore in third year?”

Harry nods.

“Well, I begged a first year girl to teach me how to sew so I could make it by hand. I ended up having such a good time doing it, that I decided to keep sewing. I made Pansy and Daphne's Yule Ball dresses fourth year, and people seemed to like my work, so I decided to capitalize on it.”

Harry stares at Malfoy, unsure of whether or not he’s joking, “So, what you’re telling me, is that you got into making clothes because of me?”

“Merlin, Potter, not everything’s about you.” Malfoy says, but Harry can see the small smile behind his teacup.

“What world do you live in Malfoy? Everything’s about me.” Harry says, a big grin on his face.

“Except your wedding.”

Harry’s smile falters, “We were doing so well, don’t pick a fight now.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

 _“No.”_ Harry thinks.

“Yes.” Harry says.

“Why don’t you want yourself represented in your wedding?”

“I- I…” Harry trails off. Why doesn’t he want a piece of himself in his wedding? Surely he deserves at least a groom’s cake or some other rubbish.

“What I like isn’t compatible with Ginny’s vision.” Harry says, finally.

“Hm.” Malfoy says, taking a sip of his drink.

They sit in silence for a bit. Harry thinking through what exactly he meant, and Malfoy sipping his tea, brow furrowed in deep concentration.

Finally, he sets his cup down, looking Harry directly in the eye. “Potter, I have a deal for you.”

“Okay?” Harry says, wary.

“I will let you ask me any question you like, no restrictions,” Malfoy says, “in exchange, that you let me do the same.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

“Because,” Malfoy says, “this way, I’ll learn more about you, enough to put subtle essences of you into your wedding.”

“How does this benefit me?” Harry asks.

Malfoy shrugs, “You’ll get to know a lot about me. Enough to qualify as friends, which you expressed interest in becoming earlier. Unless it was all a ruse?” He says, eyes narrowing in a silent challenge.

Harry narrows his eyes right back, “No ruse, however, this all seems rather one sided. Don’t you want anything more valuable than my secrets and friendship?”

“No,” Malfoy says, his gaze taking a far-away quality, “You’ll come to learn I’ve changed quite a bit in the past five years, Potter. Sometimes, I like to do things out of the good of my heart.”

Harry’s gaze drifts over to the top shelves of the bookcases, stuffed with pictures of smiling people, the happiness practically radiating off each photograph.

“Yeah,” Harry says, “I think I’m already starting to see that.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first ever fic and I really hope y'all enjoy it!  
> If you want to know what I listen to when I'm writing, my spotify is @punky804  
> I plan to update every or every other Sunday, so if it even gets to be three consecutive weeks with no update, feel free to spam my inbox and comment section demanding an update!


End file.
